


Coping Mechanism

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Dark Will Graham, Don’t copy to another site, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Revised Version, Smoking, aesthetic included, not yet, profiler hannibal, psychiatrist will, sharing a cigarette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Before their scheduled appointment, Special Agent Lecter and Doctor Graham share a cigarette and some friendly considerations.





	Coping Mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> Before you begin, you must be warned: I don’t intend to encourage anyone to smoke, this is just Mads’ fault for looking so mesmerizing with a cigarette in hand. But smoking is bad for his health too.  
> Many thanks to [Another_lost_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_lost_one) for having beta read this work, which isn’t especially long but may all the same be included in a book I’m planning to publish ❀

  


It hadn’t been a deliberate choice, nor the predictable outcome of a feeble, bored mind. Rather the serendipitous result of good chances and a favourable environment. Paradoxically, the hospital. Hannibal’s colleagues shared a cigarette after lunch, before surgery, whenever feasible, all too eager to endanger their own heath.

Hannibal had merely mingled, passively inhaled their smoke between a conversation and an E.R. urgency. He had allowed his hypersensitive nostrils to become accustomed to the unpleasant, lingering smell, in order to keep himself focused instead of losing his senses in the equally discomforting scent of multiple diseases, putrescent tissues and sanitary products.

It had been a coping mechanism of some kind. One that survived his days as surgeon and reluctantly dragged itself into Hannibal’s occupation at the FBI, under Jack Crawford’s supervision. There hadn’t been as many smoking coworkers for Hannibal to approach during their brief pauses, so Hannibal had to pick up the bad habit for himself.

He admitted his own addiction when he noticed he had a favourite brand. An indulgence Hannibal found soothing after having pursued dangerous murderers and sensitive psychopaths. Certainly not as satisfying after an amorous encounter, as was often believed. He had taken to smoke before his appointments with his psychiatrists instead, which shouldn’t have been such an easy association.

“I thought doctors were supposed to know better,” a voice distracted Hannibal from his long inhales, fume rising above his head in a slow, languorous ascent. “Don’t you know how it tarnishes your lungs?” his therapist needled, arms crossed on his chest and shoulder loosely resting on the wall. Their appointment was scheduled in a few minutes, but Mr. Graham was an observant man, knew where to find him. Knew aiming at Hannibal’s pride often proved effective.

“You know doctors are notorious for not following their own advices,” Hannibal answered, puffing a fine line of grey, volatile smoke away from him. “It prepares me for our encounters,” he offered, curious to see how Dr. Graham would process that information.

The brilliant, defiant psychiatrist Jack had assigned him to had proved himself caustic, sour, blunt. Qualities Hannibal had never learned to appreciate, despite his efforts. And yet, he couldn’t help but find this rather impolite, teasing young man fascinating.

His bright eyes were so penetrating, Hannibal mused. So perceptive, always assessing.

Dr. Graham had maintained the same peevish, detached attitude that had transpired during their first meeting, when Jack quite plainly pressured him into assuming his current position of Hannibal’s handler, despite his declared retirement. Hannibal had assisted to their exchange with rapt attention, mere spectator before two opposite, indomitable spirits. Similar in their willfulness.

After a deep lungful, Hannibal graciously extended his cigarette in a silent invitation. “I appreciate the company,” he coaxed, hardly anticipating the outcome. Dismissal, reproach, approval, each seemed imparted on unpredictable terms from Dr. Graham, so Hannibal found it endlessly entertaining to glimpse his half truths and little secrets from under his thick coat of unfriendliness. Will Graham was such a private person, although so exceedingly apt in digging into other minds, Hannibal never knew what to expect from him. He hadn’t expected his psychiatrist to accept his offer.

He took a deep draw, released generously from his nose. Hannibal couldn’t look away from his thin lips, thinking about indirect kisses. “So bitter,” Dr. Graham commented. “I used to smoke stronger cigarettes, still sweeter than this,” he confessed, tone light. His relaxed expression implied a certain amusement.

Dr. Graham was dressed in a comfortable blue shirt, neck open to the light breeze. He hadn’t planned on lingering outside in his company, let alone share a peaceful moment before resuming therapy after an intense week of work. Hannibal was flattered Dr. Graham deemed him worth of his personal time.

“A particularly aromatic note in the tobacco,” Hannibal revealed. “My palate doesn’t seem to tire of its sourness.”

Graham eyed him from head to toe, appraising. Then took another puff, letting the silence comment for him. Hannibal briefly smiled at his offhanded dismissal.

“When I worked as a beat cop in Louisiana, there was this terrible crap I insisted on smoking,” Dr. Graham stated, “I grew fond of that brand, my partner didn’t even want a drag whenever I offered. Counted as a good point, considering the guy.”

Hannibal absorbed quietly, cigarette slowly turning to ashes between Dr. Graham’s middle and index fingers.

“I kept buying packs of those cigarettes and consuming them for a while, regularly smoking at a sedate pace. Compared to my colleague, I was even restrained, but always ultimately unsatisfied. They were an average choice in an average environment, something affordable that could keep me going for a long time, but I lacked gratification. They just weren’t what I wanted.” He paused, the burned cinder fell at his feet. “When I realised I was resenting the process altogether, I quit. Both smoking and working as a policeman, for good measure, as the smoking was a consequence and not the cause.” He radiated an intense strength; the infamous stability Jack sought for his subordinates, Hannibal included.

Begrudgingly, Hannibal admitted to himself that his psychiatrist’s words struck a sensitive nerve. In his sumptuous apartment, feasting upon an elaborate meal or surrounded with a crowd of worshipful acquaintances, Hannibal wasn’t feeling content anymore, not after having thrilled in the chase of violent, artistic monsters. As if he lacked something.

“Practicing psychiatry has been a welcome distraction, nothing more,” Dr. Graham stated. “I was bored, had an attitude for it and decided to exploit it, but eventually got bored again. Then Crawford insisted,” he sighed, “and you know he’s not a man to take no for an answer, not in the long run. I acquiesced.” He faltered, momentarily spared Hannibal a sideways glance.

“No offence taken,” Hannibal ensured. He was admittedly too caught up in speculating about his current source of fulfillment. Hannibal couldn’t imagine that fostering stray dogs was enough to sate his industrious mind.

Dr. Graham smirked at his indulgence, knowingly. “You’re such a proper man, Hannibal. Always composed, always ready to oblige and provide. Intelligent, talented, cultured.” _Attractive_ was left unsaid, but not unheard. “Almost wasted on this job, if not for the lives you save. Certainly resolute enough to quit if necessary. I wonder if you’ll wear out,” Dr. Graham breathed one last gasp of smoke, “maybe you should stop and find something more,” he gestured, searching for the word he clearly had in mind already, “compelling.”

And for some reason, Hannibal didn’t think he was talking about smoking.

**Author's Note:**

> This story doesn’t make sense and that’s just fine. Photoset inspired by [this post on Tumblr](https://zigzag-wanderer.tumblr.com/post/185243258217/).  
> I wasn’t kidding about the book. Let me know if you’re interested, or if you spot errors I should fix.  
> [Find me elsewhere](https://cinnamaldeide.carrd.co). [Post on Twitter](https://twitter.com/cinnamaldeide/status/1150721817608372226?s=20).


End file.
